


a beginning as well as an ending.

by holdingnotoyou



Category: Bandom, Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Gen, Implied Relationships, Implied Sexual Content, Kidnapping, Kissing, Memories, Multi, Trench Era, just a little something to get back into the writing spirit i guess, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-29
Updated: 2018-11-29
Packaged: 2019-09-01 15:28:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16767871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holdingnotoyou/pseuds/holdingnotoyou
Summary: "You always come back for me."





	a beginning as well as an ending.

**Author's Note:**

> getting back into writing. slowly.
> 
> you can find me on tumblr [here](http://clancies.tumblr.com/).

He appears in shadows. 

The asphalt is cool beneath the soles of Tyler's shoes; he can't feel it but he knows that it holds no heat from the sun that had set hours ago. His hands are tight in fists, clenched in the palms of his hands as he keeps his head down. He avoids the whispers beneath bated breaths, avoids the stares of those who sit on rustic, metal chairs with silver spoons on the tips of their tongues. There's a lot of people Tyler doesn't trust, a lot of people who watch him on behalf of the Bishops and report his every move. 

There's fifty steps until the lobby of his apartment, fifty steps until he's beneath a roof that's meant to protect him. He knows people watch him there, too; eyes sought on him like a hawk until he disappears into the solace he calls home. He'll never be home; there's something in the pit of his stomach that tells him he'll always be on the cusp of the razors edge, awaiting the moment in which his sickeningly sweet death takes him. 

That's where he finds him; Tyler can just barely make out the yellow tape across his chest, buried beneath the jacket that he has wrapped tightly around his shoulders. His eyes carry a different tone, a secret that he carries like a thorn in his side. Tyler stops in his tracks, the gravel of the drive crumbling beneath his feet as he finds the brown eyes in the night. There's something unspoken between them, something aching in Tyler's bones that draws their two spirits together. 

The man lifts his head, squares his jaw and doesn't blink. 

He breathes out. He goes home.

#

The window of Tyler's apartment -- if it can be called an apartment, it's dingy and dirty and everything that Tyler _hates_ about this place, he doesn't even want to _name_ it because it doesn't deserve to be named -- is large. It takes up the majority of the back wall, overlooking the small courtyard of the apartment complex. 

There are never any lights on in the windows that surround his, never any lights in the windows across the way. On nights when Tyler can't sleep, he stares at the dark windows and wonders what kind of lives existed within the confines of the rooms. His head aches when he thinks of it too long, he thinks about how the people who he's met in the hallway have never shown their faces to him more than once or twice before they disappear into the abyss that is DEMA. 

That's where he appears again, in the window across the way. 

It isn't actually _him_ , not the man with the dark beanie and the scruff, but rather a light. A candle wick flickering _redorangeyellow_ ; a sign of peace, a sight of serenity. It's the first time in weeks that Tyler's felt a moment of peace, staring out the window as he finds himself chasing the sight of the yellow light. 

It's a warning, he knows, that they're coming for him. They call themselves the Banditos, Tyler knows that much about them, but he's never seen a single individual from their group aside from the scruffy man. His jaw unclenches for the first time in weeks, tension residing in his shoulders unfolding like a map on a table. 

He falls asleep as the light flickers and wakes long after it's burned out. There's no candle on the windowsill the next morning and his mind doesn't linger on the thought any longer than it needs to. 

He packs a bag when he returns home that night. 

#

It's not him that seeks Tyler out initially. 

Rather, it's a blonde with silky hair that drapes over her shoulder. Her hair is almost as yellow as the sunflower that peeks out of the pocket of her coat. She sidles up beside Tyler as he wraps up his day, punching the clock beside him before she turns her attention toward him. The first thing that strikes him are her icy blue eyes, they seek his out and without a smile, 

"The courtyard outside your apartment, tonight at eight." 

She says no more, just steps away from him and smiles at another coworker across the way. Her boots clack on the floor as she leaves, the noise disappearing altogether as she leaves the small building. It's a little more forward than he'd like, an entirely different persona that he can't place. He's never seen her face before, not once in his office building and he's found plenty of places to hide out in the small building throughout the years he's been trapped in it. He's seen everyone's face at least twice, even the new people that cycle in and out like purified water. 

Eight comes sickeningly slow; he's perched on a concrete bench minutes before the clock strikes, watching the entrance to the courtyard. As the alarm on his watch chirps, the two appear out of the shadows. They step in sync and Tyler watches the man, torch in hand, approach him wordlessly. There's a tense, heavy weight that looms over them as they approach Tyler, and he stands to meet them -- it is the polite thing to do. 

"Right on time," The woman's pink lips rise in a faint smile, and Tyler wonders, briefly, what it would be like to kiss them. They'd be soft, he assumes but doesn't allow himself to get lost in the thought. It's not like it'd ever happen. 

"You're--" Tyler begins to speak, and the woman reaches out to press her manicured nails against his wrist.

"Yes." She cuts him off at the same moment that the man casts a glance between the two of them. "We are. That's all you need to know about us."

"We're planning." The man finally says; his voice is higher in pitch than Tyler expected but it's a pleasant surprise, it humanizes him a bit more. He focuses on the fact that they're a similar height, the man obviously more built than him, and Tyler wonders what it'd be like to kiss _him_. It's another fleeting thought; the loss of intimacy since returning here has seemed to affect him a lot more than it usually does. 

"Planning?" Tyler asks, the lump in his throat is thick and hard to swallow around. He's _planned_ before, they've all _planned_ before but somehow, someway, every single time finds him back here. This situation, this position, feels all too comfortable. It feels like he's been here before, like he's seen their faces -- or faces _like_ theirs. 

"Yes. You'll know when."

"We want you there," She says, "Tyler. We _need_ you there." His head snaps to attention, finds her eyes in the dark night like a lighthouse in the foggy night sky. 

"You know my name." He says, "You know who I am."

"Of course we know you, Tyler," She replies gently, "And we'll find you every time." 

Tyler opens his mouth to speak again but the torch in the man's hand flickers, almost as if timed. The two pairs of eyes meet in a significant movement. Her head turns, eyes meeting Tyler's with a sad smile on her lips. 

"We'll meet next week. This same time. Bring a bag, Tyler." 

They disappear before his very eyes, into the darkness as the torch falters. The darkness consumes Tyler as it always does. 

He returns home. 

# 

The week passes and finds him sat on the same concrete bench, bag sat at his feet as he watches the time tick away on his watch. The sun has long since set; it's getting colder in DEMA, the flowers perched precariously on the edges of sidewalks should begin wilting away and dying with each passing day but rather, they stay planted, stay with their petals perched high like it's the first spring blossom. It's unsettling with every season that passes although it never stops being the same; he's been here for years and it never stops being the same. 

His watch chirps eight and there's a flicker of light at the end of the courtyard. Tyler's eyes are drawn to it immediately, drawn to the man standing, unblinking as he watches Tyler. He makes no attempt to move but that doesn't mean Tyler doesn't; he pulls his bag over his shoulder, grass withering beneath the heels of his shoes as he draws closer to the man. 

They're within feet of each other, inches of each other when Tyler stops in front of him. "You're here for me." He breathes out, the words twisting around the tip of his tongue. The man nods, something serene in the irises of his eyes and Tyler feels a calm wash over him. It's almost as if he's been in this position before. His mind tells him it's almost as if he'll be in this position again. 

"Let's go." 

He follows in the footsteps of the man, watches the muscles of his broad shoulders move beneath the green until he catches the man's eyes as he glances over his shoulder, eyes diverting toward the grass beneath them for the rest of the journey. It's a building Tyler's never seen that they still in front of, the door haphazardly painted a sunflower yellow. Tyler doesn't even realize he's holding his breath until the step through the doorway; there's flickering yellow lights down the hall, not flames but still untouchable by bishops. The sound of chatter fills the hallway the further they descend into the dark and Tyler catches her eye before anyone else's. 

It feels like the world stops when their eyes meet and his hand releases its grip on his bag; the calm that Tyler once felt earlier that night washes over him again, a feeling of complete safety and trust. They've barely held a full conversation with them and Tyler would trust the two of them with his life. He _is_ trusting the two of them with his life. 

He watches her cross the room, eyes only flickering toward the man as he settles the torch on the wall with the rest and pulls his bandana down from over his mouth. "Tyler," She smiles, a genuine smile, her hand reaching out toward to rest against his shoulder. "Welcome home." 

#

They spend days underground. Tyler follows the blonde around like a lost puppy, three pairs of footsteps clattering down concrete hallways in the middle of the night. The three say very little to each other; Tyler watches as the woman--Jenna, she tells him one evening as if it's a gentle reminder of someone he once knew but forgot--and the man--Josh, with eyes that reminded Tyler of pools of honey in sunlight--talk in corners, casting gazes to him like he isn't already watching them. 

The three of them are settled on a cot together, Jenna and Josh laid back after a long evening of conversation with the higher ups. He finds out over the course of the days that they are higher ups, putting their necks on the line to bring Tyler into the Banditos. They spend long nights telling Tyler about their plans to escape DEMA, about their plans to spend days in the fields of Iceland and escape the Bishops. Tyler tells them it's a hopeless dream--he's _had_ the hopeless dream, the dreams about running so real that they almost feel like they've happened. Jenna and Josh share a knowing glance every time Tyler brings up dreaming of something, brings up feeling something that's never happened.

The three of them are settled on a cot together when Tyler asks, "Why does it feel like I've known you in another life?" 

The thin mattress shifts beneath their collective weight and a pair of pale arms wrap around his shoulder. Jenna presses a gentle kiss against Tyler's shoulder; he can feel the searing heat of her mouth through the layers of his clothes and there's a desperate ache in his chest that follows. "We'll explain it all to you one day, Tyler." 

A warm hand presses against the small of his back, fingers dragging across his skin through his shirt, "One day, Ty."

#

They have a single calendar in the base and one morning, Tyler wakes up to a date circled in red. He's lost count of the days, lost the amount of times the sun has risen and fallen over DEMA, but there must be someone within the walls who knows. He clicks his tongue as he brings himself back to reality, back to the small cot the three of them somehow manage to share. 

"Did you see?" He settles himself on the edge of the cot, untying his shoes and pulling them off.

"See?" Josh reaches out, warm hand settling against Tyler's thigh, "We wrote it." 

He settles himself on the edge of the bed, body pressed against Josh and his heart leaps through his chest at the warm hand sliding to rest on his stomach. "Wrote it? When?" 

"Last night." Josh murmurs, "You fell asleep and we met again. It's time, Tyler. We can't stay here forever." 

There's a part of Tyler that knows that, knows that there has to come a day wherein they all leave the confines of the Bandito underground headquarters and escape DEMA. There's no reason to be a Bandito if they continue to exist within DEMA, no reason to be a part of a rebellion gang if they're not actually going to _rebel_. His heart races at the idea, not with excitement but with anxiety. He tries not to show it in the tension of his body but Josh's fingers press into his skin beneath his shirt, 

"We'll be safe." Josh says, "We'll make it out this time." 

Tyler's mouth dries at the sentence, head racing with pulsing ideas that he can't make sense of. There are pieces of memories that he doesn't know where they came from, flashes of pictures that appear in black and white behind his eyelids. "This time?" Tyler asks, clenching his jaw as he tries to slow his breathing. 

Josh retracts his hand and sits up in the bed, "Tyler--" 

Tyler's quicker than Josh is, sliding into his shoes and moving out of the cubby hole they call a room. His skin feels too tight around his muscles, around his bones, and Tyler's head spins with ideas that only exist within the confines of his brain. He can feel hands on his shoulders, can feel the tight grip of fingers around his throat. He chokes on the air he tries to breathe in, falls to his knees as he coughs out the thorns in his throat that are nonexistent. 

Jenna's warm hands settle on his shoulders, blue eyes meeting his as she settles on her own knees. "Tyler?" She asks gently, cool fingers pressing against his pink-flushed cheeks. 

"I've been here before." He chokes out and Jenna's face softens, eyes drifting from his own to a spot on his shirt. 

"Yeah," She confirms, pressing her tongue against the roof of her mouth before she absentmindedly brushes her thumb across Tyler's cheekbone. "You have, Ty."

#

He doesn't sleep for three nights. 

He paces instead, watches Josh and Jenna watch him between meetings and between meals. They sit on the bed, Jenna's knees tucked to her chest and Josh's arms crossed across his chest. They don't speak to him, let him process the dreams that were memories, let him jump at the drops of pins and the hushed whispers. They offer no comfort aside from their presences, no condolences as Tyler pieces together the life that he circles in. 

The third night is when Jenna stands from her spot on the bed, crosses the room and grips Tyler's shoulder. He stops in his steps, head tipping to meet hers and there's no surprise in the brush of her lips against his. He reaches out for her, presses his fingers against her skin and she's warm and soft in all of the places Tyler's not. It feels familiar kissing her, and his mind flashes with images of her like this, pressed up against him with her lips on his. She has bangs, pink streaks, her hair pulled back, blue tips, her hair pushed aside--she's always there. 

"You always come back for me." He breathes out when she pulls away and Jenna only nods, eyelids still shut. Her eyelashes are long against her cheeks, and Tyler casts a glance over her shoulder to Josh. _Josh_ is always there, too. Josh with his strong hands, with his tough jaw, with his _everything_. Between the three of them, they piece together the perfect person. Josh catches his eye, a smile of warmth filling the empty space on his face. He crosses the room after a moment as well, an arm draping over both of their shoulders and the two of them lean into the warmth. 

Jenna's lips press gently against the column of Josh's throat, and Tyler's fingers brush across Josh's back. " _You always come back for me_."

There's a silence that fills the room, a delicacy that settles over the three of them. Josh's head rests against Tyler's, yellow strands of hair brushing against Tyler's head. "We leave tomorrow evening," Jenna says into the empty space of Josh's shoulder, "We should rest." 

There is no rest, not with the energy in their bones and in their fingertips. The three move in sync as if they are one person, a mess of lips and warm palms and hips. They escape tomorrow and Tyler knows in the back of his mind that this is the last chance that he's going to get with them for a long while. 

#

The sun has settled in the west, there are gentle rays of light casting shadows across the darkening sky. He follows in the line of people, heads dipped low to focus on the ground beneath them. Jenna's hand is a heavy, warm weight in his and they're just behind Josh, the leader of the pack. It's a long walk, an escape from the lives they've known and the beginning of the lives they intend to create. 

Jenna dreams of Iceland, a small farm on the cusp of a riverbed where they spend their days watching sunrises in the East and she bakes cookies while the boys--her boys--sit on the porch drinking homemade tea. 

Josh dreams of peace, settled in what he calls a "never ending moment of peace" with the three of them tucked in a California king-sized bed, his arms around them both as they listen to soft jazz music and watch movies that Jenna is fond of. 

Tyler dreams of escape, something that will never come. He doesn't tell them that he predicts his impending doom, doesn't tell them that he can already feel the phantom touch of a Bishop's hand wrapped around his throat. 

He falls in line. He falls in line. 

#

They reach the coast after a few days. A small campsite with pitched tents, with bonfires on each side of the site without anyone casting him glances of doom hiding behind their eyes. They greet the newest group of Banditos with the chaos of loud noises, of long hugs and vigorous cries of relief. 

Tyler feels at home here, between Josh and Jenna on a wooden log as the rest of the Banditos chatter loudly around them. There's a breeze that's gentle, that carries the promise of hope and of peace throughout the branches of trees and the petals of flowers--dying flowers. It's his last night of freedom something in his bones tells him, his eyes cast upon the tree line above them and he blinks willingly as he notices the vulture sitting on the tree above him. 

The breeze brushes across his now bald scalp and Jenna's fingers follow it, brushing across his skin with a smile. She takes pride in her work, Tyler can tell. He just wishes he had more time with her, so she could really enjoy it. She had called it "the start of their new beginnings" as she brushed the rest of Tyler's hair off of his jacket. She had shaved Josh's head minutes before at his insistence, he'd insisted on matching Tyler and it left Tyler with a pink flush on his cheeks and a laugh bubbling in the back of his throat. 

"I'm going to bed," Jenna yawns after a moment; he can see the tired look in her eyes, can see where their journey has left her with a need to seek peace in the discomfort of their small cot. "Anyone joining me?" 

Josh nods, brushing a hand across Tyler's shoulders as he stands off the log and gestures, "Coming, Ty?" 

Tyler shakes his head, the palm of his hand rubbing across his newly bald head. "I think I'm going to stay up for a bit, I'll meet you in there in a bit, okay?" The two nod and Josh's arm drapes across Jenna's shoulder as the two head toward the small orange tent pitched at the end of the campsite. He watches with a warmth bubbling across his chest as Jenna laughs at a joke Josh whispers to her, watches Josh's thumb absentmindedly brush across her bare shoulder. They disappear within the tent and Tyler turns his attention back to the fire, it flickers _redorangeyellow_ and his mind wanders across the infinity that is his brain. The last of his thoughts settle on Jenna and Josh, the warmth of their smiles burned into the back of his mind.

He doesn't blink twice as he feels a hand wrap around his throat, in fact, he settles into the familiar feeling. It's a circle, he knows, that every time he escapes--they keep coming for him. The Bishop has given up on the intense grip he normally has; he knows at this point that Tyler won't escape, he won't even budge as he's dragged across the dirt. His vision blurs as he watches the fire, watches as the Banditos look between each other in panic as Tyler disappears into the night. 

He knows in the morning, he'll wake up in his apartment in DEMA with nothing to his name but a pair of clean clothes and a small bag hooked over the back of the front door to his apartment. He knows it will be weeks until he sees Josh and Jenna--they'll revert to being the man with honey brown eyes and the woman with icy blue eyes--again, knows it'll be months until their next escape. 

It's a circle, he reminds himself as his eyes flutter closed. They'll always come back for him. 

#

The sun breaks in the East and Tyler rises with it. There are bruises on his throat in the shape of fingerprints and he stares at the vulture out the window. He returns to work, returns home, and repeats the process every day, 

It's a week and a half later when Tyler's walking home, the asphalt cool under his feet from the long-set sun. He avoids the whispers beneath bated breaths, avoids the stares of those who sit on rustic, metal chairs with silver spoons on the tips of their tongues. 

There's thirty steps until the lobby of his apartment, thirty steps until he's beneath a roof that's meant to protect him. Tyler stops in his tracks, the gravel of the drive crumbling beneath his feet as he finds the brown eyes in the night. There's something unspoken between them, something aching in Tyler's bones that draws their two spirits together. 

His brain aches as he stares at the man; something vague in the back of his mind tells him it's the continuous circle bringing them back together. He doesn't know what it means but knows that it won't be the last time that he sees the man in the shadows. 

He breathes out. He goes home.

(He's counting the days until they come back for him.)


End file.
